9. Lufthansa Flight 1927 Munich to Newark
Twelve thousand meters above the Atlantic Ocean, Greta woke up, raised her seat, and tapped Otto on the shoulder. “I have to get up,” she said over the deep rumble of the plane’s engines.
Otto’s leg rest was up, his laptop was open on his tray table, and he was typing as though his life depended on it.
“Honestly, Otto,” she said, tapping him again. “Can we talk, please?” She took in her husband’s stiff posture and furrowed brow. “I was only dropping off our key.”
He stopped typing and turned to her. “I didn’t even know you knew Mr. Lance, except to pass each other on the stairs. But there you were, laughing and getting drunk on champagne first thing in the morning.”
“I know him… a little,” she said. “And I’ve never understood why you have such a low opinion of him. He’s a perfectly nice man.”
“I don’t like him,” he said, frowning like a grumpy child.
“I know, which is why I didn’t mention I’ve had a few conversations with him.”
Otto stared off blankly into the aisle. “I haven’t in many years seen you to be having so much fun,” he said.
That was possibly true. Otto hadn’t brought out her joyful side in quite some time. Other things did—art and wine, friends and books—but Otto spoke mostly about colleagues who wronged him, tasks that were overdue, and weather that disappointed.
“And what about you?” she said. “You never even smile anymore.”
“And why should I smile?” He turned back to his computer. “I learned from the Arschloch today that Moritz has published a paper against me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He claims I made falsch data, that I have committed intellectual Betrug .” He pointed to the email he was writing. “I now must defend myself.”
“Fraud?” said Greta. “ You? ” Poor Otto. Moritz really was a monster.
“I am writing to the editors of the International Journal of Bone and Joint , saying I will reproduce the data, and Moritz will be made to take back his libidinous claims.”
Greta leaned over to look at his screen. “ Libelous ,” she said.
Otto hit backspace on his keyboard and retyped the word.
“I’m sorry that your place of work has become a battleground,” she said.
He stopped typing. “The Stimmung there is immer negativ , and my colleagues themselves are destroying my… Seele ?” he said.
“Soul,” she said. “Some time away will be good for you.”
“This letter needs to be perfekt .”
“I’m sure it will be.” Greta leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I have to get up,” she said, “but when I get back, can we at least try to enjoy the flight?”
She unbuckled her seat belt and stepped over him, wishing he would reach out and touch her as she passed. Instead he hugged his laptop to his chest to make sure she didn’t bump it as she reached the aisle.
She moved through the darkened cabin, past rows of business-class passengers who were working, watching movies, or sleeping.
She passed the bulkhead and stepped into the area where the Lufthansa flight attendants were preparing the second meal.
Sidling through an open bathroom door, she slid the latch to the right, and as the light flicked on, she was shocked at the sight of her pale face.
They’d had so much rain in Berlin all spring, Greta could barely remember what it felt like to walk around without an umbrella.
She and Otto would benefit from sunshine, the one thing she was certain Dallas had in abundance.
Adam had promised good food as well. Cowboys and lifeguards.
She marveled at the thought of getting a tan while reading a steamy novel by Lucy Holt’s swimming pool.
When she returned to their row, Otto had put his laptop away. Greta climbed over him and landed heavily in her seat.
“I look haggard,” she said. “What a shock.”
“Not at all,” Otto said, “but I am feeling sehr alt .”
Greta had never thought of Otto as old. But the fifteen-year age gap between them was becoming more apparent.
His face was aging well, but his joints were not.
He was energetic enough to get up at the crack of dawn for surgery, but after work, he no longer had the desire to do anything at all.
She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d gone to a movie together or had dinner with friends.
“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “Bettina was just saying how young you’re acting, whisking us off to Texas.”
“How was your night with Bettina?”
“We had martinis, and then she went home with a stranger.”
Otto frowned. “I do not think Bettina should be having gender traffic with strange men.”
His direct translations so often failed. She did not correct him. In fact, she wished she hadn’t mentioned Bettina’s sex life at all; it was one thing for her to judge her sister, but she did not want Otto judging her. “She’s an adult,” she said. “She knows what she’s doing.”
She looped her arm through his and put her head on his shoulder. “This morning I was thinking about the fun we used to have, driving around in the old Beetle, kissing and—”
“We should get rid of it,” Otto said plainly, just as if he were telling her to throw out moldy cheese from the refrigerator.
Greta raised her head, feeling like she’d been slapped. “No,” she said, “how can you say that?”
“Or we should give it to Emmi.”
“Emmi can’t drive.”
“Eventually she will. We never drive it anyway, and it’s too old. Why are you holding on so… fest ? You’re very sentimental these days.”
“That car,” she said, a wave of nostalgia welling up inside her, “is very important. It’s a reminder of something we—”
“I don’t need a reminder,” Otto said, patting her knee. “You’re right here with me, at the start of a new time for us,” he said.
And then a flight attendant walked up as if on cue, handing them each a glass of champagne and offering her congratulations.
“What’s this?” Greta said.
“You said we should enjoy the flight.” Otto looked up at her. “And it’s our anniversary.”
Greta was taken aback. “It isn’t,” she said.
“It is. Twenty-two years ago we met on a Lufthansa Flugzeug from London to Frankfurt. And here we are, traveling again together, but in the opposite direction.”
“Otto,” she said, her face flushing. She hadn’t remembered. “That’s very sweet. Thank you.”
“I am optimistisch about what is coming,” he said. “I googled the internet last night while you were out, and I learned that Texans are freundlich and self-assured.”
“All of them?” Greta said.
Otto smiled; it had been so long since she’d seen him try, she found herself staring at the upturned corners of his mouth.
“Yes, all of them,” he said. “So here’s to thirty million new friends,” he added, and lifted his glass. “Or maybe thirty new friends. Or even three would be nice.”
Greta thought that was very well put. She raised her glass as well, looking him in the eye. But just as she was about to take a sip, the pilot made an announcement about turbulence ahead, and the flight attendant rushed by, whisking away their full glasses of champagne.